A Winter Chill
by Maplefrost
Summary: Dodger gets sick. But this isn't just a cold. He's contracted a potentially fatal strain of influenza that's spreading rapidly through England. While taking care of him, Nancy and Dodger become closer. Is there something more between them? Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

A request for Rosebud5. I hope you like it!

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"Time fer work, boys!"

Fagin yelled to his 'workers' from the fireplace, where he was cooking the last batch of sausages. The majority of breakfast was already on the table; sausages, rolls, and apples, mostly. The same as it was every morning. As if on cue, about twenty hungry boys came running to the table, dressed and ready to start the day. They eyed the table hungrily, mischievous grins on every last face.

"'Old on, 'old on!" Fagin slid the last batch of sausages onto a plate,, and rested the skewers by the mantle. The children glanced around, as if they had no idea what Fagin was waiting for.

"Head count comes before breakfast, always!" Fagin reminded the less-than-forgetful orphans. The boys let out groans of annoyance, but quickly formed a disheveled line.

"That's me good lads." Their caretaker ambled down the line of pickpockets, naming each boy that he counted.

"Alright. Edward, Charley, Oscar…" He continued to mumble names to himself before he settled on the last boy. "And Joseph." He paused, looking around. Someone was missing, and it didn't take him half a second to figure out who it was. "Wait…where's Dodger?"

The boys glanced at each, shrugging and shaking their heads. Dodger was always on time. He was always the first at the table. In fact, being Fagin's right hand man, he was usually already at the table, halfway done with breakfast, before the boys were called to eat. He would be sitting in his chair, at Fagin's side, smirking at them. Now, the boys looked at the chair. It was pushed in. Empty. Dodger-less.

Fagin tapped his foot, growing more and more irritated. "Does anyone know where the Dodge is?" Fagin yelled. The boys cringed, but still shook their heads. Where was he? It seemed that nobody knew.

"'M right 'ere, Fagin." The weak, deeper-than-average voice came from the steps. Everyone turned to see who it was. It was the Artful Dodger. He slowly descended the steps, pale and shaking slightly. He halted halfway down the dilapidated staircase, leaning against the wall for support. His eyes, usually bright, blue, and boisterous, were now dull and lackluster, drifting lazily around the room.

"Wow." Charley looked up at his best friend, a countenance of mock concern painted on his face. "You look terrible."

Dodger frowned, glaring at Charley. "Thanks, ya clodhopper," the young man spat. The boys giggled, but were quickly silenced by a glare from the Artful. Fagin, however, wasn't amused at all.

"Wotsa matter wit' you?" Fagin snapped, glaring at Dodger with one eybrow raised. "You _do _plan on workin' today, yes?"

Dodger stopped at the foot of the steps and nodded. "Of course, Fagin. Just a little cold, dats all. It'll shake off by noon."

Fagin nodded, smiling. He turned to face the rest of the boys. "See that?" He gestured to Dodger. "Half of you little scoundrels try and pull a sickness each week. The Artful ain't that rude." Dodger offered up a weak smile. Fagin continued. "Dodge goes out to work , no matter 'ow 'e feels. No work, no food, right Dodger?"

Dodger nodded. "Dats right, Fagin." He leisurely walked down the row of orphans, grinning. "So, grab yer breakfast and git ta work!"

-x-X-x-

Later that day, the boys were off 'working'. They had split off into pairs and disappeared into the massive city of London. The Dodger, as usual, had gone off with Charley to pick pocket the day away. It was a chilly day, and all of the pedestrians were wearing large coats, with easy-to-pick pockets. By noon, both boys had acquired quite the sum of loot. However, Dodger seemed to be slightly off his game. Charley assumed that Dodger still wasn't feeling quite up to snuff, and shrugged off his partner's lack of energy.

A little after noon, both boys decided to take a rest. They stopped by a small bookstore and sat on the wall outside, watching the people go by. At this point, both boys were shaking, although Dodger had been shaking all morning. He was looking a little paler, but was fine otherwise.

" S'a nice day, ain't it?" Dodger pointed out, glancing up at the sky, which was filled with wispy clouds.

Charley nodded. "Very nice. No rain, unlike what Fagin said." Fagin had insisted the night before that it would rain all day.

Dodger chuckled, and then cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his grimy shirt,, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "A little 'ot, though, wouldn't ya say? Strange for January…"

Charley's eyes widened. "You think it's hot?" he exclaimed. After thinking a moment, he shrugged. "Well, you are wearing a thick coat. I guess it's hot to you."

The two thieves fell silent once more, both thinking independent thoughts of little real importance. After a long silence, Charley started up again. "So, I 'eard on the streets that they've 'ad sixteen more people dead from that…uh…" Charley thought a moment. "Influenza thing. Good thing we's is tough, right Dodge?"

Dodger nodded, looking at the cobblestones of the street. "Dats right, Charl-" He was interrupted mid-sentence by a violent cough. The cough escalated into a fit of coughing.

"You okay, Dodge?" Charley's eyes widened, afraid.

Dodger nodded his head. "Just…swallowed…wrong way…" he worked out between fits.

Charley's eyes went back to their regular size. "Alright, if ya says so," he said. "Anyways, I remember someone tellin' me that eatin' fruit is good to keep the sick away, so maybe if we got our 'ands on some oranges or sumthing, we'd be-"

He was interrupted by a thud. Startled, Charley turned his head. "Dodge, what was tha-"

He stopped talking. Dodger had fallen over on the ground, shaking, still coughing. Charley gulped. "This ain't no winter chill."

Something was seriously wrong.

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Review? Please? Ch. 2 coming soon(hopefully)!


	2. Chapter 2

Here we go! Chapter Two! Thanks to everyone for the nice reviews!

OH. AND I HAVE A LITTLE SOMETHING TO SAY TO MISS ROSEBUD5. Rosie, I sat at my computer for three hours and did not leave until this was finished. Sure, I was hungry and had to go to the bathroom, but I finished it. SO YOUR WELCOME. Because of you, I ate lunch at five. And I like eating. A lot.

ANYWAY, ON TO THE CHAPTER!

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"Dodge! Dodga'! Get up, ya great lump!"

Charley tried, once again, to lift his friend off the ground. And, once again, the weight proved too much on his skinny arms, used to stealing and snatching. "Dodger…" He shook him lightly, but the older boy remained still. He looked around. 'I've got to get him away…' he muttered. 'What if someone figures out he's sick?'

Summoning the little strength he had, Charley grabbed Dodger's shoulders, stood up, and started to drag his unconscious companion into a nearby alley. Luckily, most people didn't notice the two urchins, for they were used to seeing street children doing what they thought were 'ridiculous acts', such as playing and actually enjoying their lives.

Charley lowered Dodger's head back unto the pavement and sat down beside him, eyes wide with concern. What was wrong with his best friend? Was he going to die? Was Dodger going to live, just to have Fagin kill him for missing a day of work? Would Fagin kill Charley for missing work to lug Dodger's sorry arse into the alley?

As the young Mister Bates was pondering these and other questions, a bulldog entered the alley, white with black markings. He ambled up to Dodger and started to sniff him. After deciding that he knew Dodger, the dog preceded to lick his face.

"Bullseye!" Charley leaned forward and patted the dog's head. Bullseye, preoccupied with Dodger, didn't pay attention. After giving Dodger's face a good licking, he say back on his haunches with a whine, ears down. Why wouldn't Top Hat get up and play with him? He loved to play. Charley grabbed the dog's head. "Bullseye. Find master," he ordered. "Find master, Bullseye."

"Master is found."

Charley, with a swallow, lifted his head to see a tall man looming over him. Bill Sykes crouched down and scratched the dog behind the ears. "Good dog," he muttered. He looked over to Charley. "Could you possibly tell me why you an' Dodga' are loungin' about in an alley?"

Even though he was afraid of Bill, Charley pulled a face. "We weren't loungin'!" he barked. "Dodge' 'ere passed out! I think 'e's real sick!"

Bill considered this a moment. He glanced at Dodger. An expression of fear passed over Bill's face, an expression that Charley thought he'd never see and probably never would again. "'E's got that…infleenza or whatever," Bill said. "I 'eard some folks talkin' about it outside the bookstore. 'Killin' off young'uns like flies' they said."

"Killin'?" Charley looked at Dodger, biting his lip. "Dodge won't…he won't die, will 'e?"

Bill waved a hand, dismissing the worry. "Now, if dere's one thing I know 'bout Dodga', he's a pain. 'E annoys me to no end. He'll probably annoy the germs to death. And 'e's stubborn, and strong. Won't let 'imself get killed by a stupid bug." He slid his arms underneath Dodger's still body. "C'mon, Charley. Let's get 'im back ta Fagin."

-x-X-x-

"Wot 'appened?"

Dodger uttered the words the moment he felt himself slipping back into consciousness. The first thing he noticed was that his voice sounded scratchy. The second thing he noticed was that using his voice hurt.

He opened his eyes. Several people were standing at his bedside. Fagin was standing near the foot of the bed, his face a mixture of hard-to-read emotions. Bill stood a little ways away, leaning against the wall. Charley was standing on Dodger's right side, his eyes puffy. Bet stood next to Charley. Last, but not least, Nancy stood on the left side of the bed, her face wrought with worry.

"Dodge, you're alive!" Nancy's exclaimed with a grin. Charley let out a sigh of relief. Bullseye, who had been laying down on the floor, jumped up on the bed and started to smother Dodger with licks. "We thought you was dead, for certain."

"Dead? I ain't dea-" Dodger was stopped by a fit of coughing. He sat up in the bed, and once the fit was over, slumped forward, defeated.

"You're right sick, Dodga'," Fagin said. "You'll 'ave to stay in bed for a while. I can't take care of ya, seein' as I got business to take care of."

"I'll take care of 'im!" Charley shouted.

"Oh no ya won't!" Fagin barked. "You've got to work, an' anyways, I can't let you get the rest of me boys sick!"

No one even looked at Bill for help. His good deeds for the day were all but spent.

"I can take care of 'im," Nancy pointed out. "Bet, will you take on my shifts at the Three Cripples as well as your own?"

"Sure!" Bet said. "It's not like I've got anyfing betta ta do! Besides, we all want Dodge to get better, right?"

"Right!" yelled Fagin and Charley.

"Of course!" said Nancy.

"To a certain extent," muttered Bill. His dog, however, barked in agreement. If Top Hat didn't get better, then who would play with him? Master was too busy to play.

"Then it's settled," Fagin said. "Nancy, you can stay 'ere while you're takin' care of Dodga'. I'll set up an extra cot in the room. I'll be right down the 'all." He turned to Dodger and pointed a finger at him. "And if you so much as make one move toward that door, I'll whip ya till you can't remember 'avin' a back to begin wif. Understand?"

Dodger, worried he go into another coughing fit, nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

Dodger, waking up after a long night of trying to fall asleep in between fits of coughing, let one blue eye crack open. A shaft of light stabbed into it, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his head. Dodger squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a pained groan.

"Dodga'?"

Nancy, awoken by Dodger's announcement of pain, leapt from her cot and rushed over to Dodger's bedside.

"Dodge? Are you alright?"

Dodger nodded weakly. He let out a few strained wheezes, to test his voice. "The light, 's givin' me a 'eadache..." he managed to rasp.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." Nancy hurried over to the ratty curtains, and pulled them shut. Light shone in through a few large, moth-eathen holes in the drapes, but the room was considerably darker.

"Thanks, Nance," Dodger murmured.

"No trouble." Nancy walked over to the fireplace, where a small fire was burning, warming the contents of a large pot. She ladled some steaming porridge into a bowl. "You need to eat, and regain some of your strength."

Dodger smiled, and took the bowl with a soft, 'thank you'. It wasn't Fagin's sausage, but it was warm, and it was food. He quickly swallowed it, grateful for something soothing on his ripped throat. Once he was finished, he held the bowl out to Nancy, who took it. Dodger, his hands free, grabbed his head.

"Ah..."

Nancy looked over at him, concerned. "Pretty bad 'ead ache, 'uh?" she guessed. When Dodger nodded, she offered a weak smile. "I'll make ya some tea." She headed off to do just that.

-x-X-x-

Dodger was awakened from his dazed sleep by a sharp cry of pain. He shot up out of the bed, flinching as his head rung with pain. "Nance!" he croaked, looking over to her.

She was standing over at the table, cutting up an apple. Beads of blood dripped from her finger.

Dodger stumbled over to her, head throbbing. Ignoring her protests of, 'you should be in bed' and 'you'll get sicker', he ripped off the cuff of his sleeve. He reached for Nancy's hand.

Nancy closed her eyes, expecting Dodger's hands to be rough and harsh. However, she was surprised when she felt soft, gentle hands holding her hand as Dodger examined her wound. She opened her eyes when she felt the hands disappear. Dodger had walked over to the pot of water that was starting to warm up. He dipped the sleeve in the water, rung it out, and returned to Nance.

Dodger slowly cleaned all of the blood from Nancy's finger, returning several times to the pot to clean the rag. "That was supposed ta be for yer tea," Nancy pointed out.

"Yea," Dodger confirmed. "Was."

Finally, when it was clean enough, he ripped off his other cuff, using it to bind the cut. He fumbled with the knot for a moment, but his head soothed long enough for him to secure it. He patted Nancy's hand once, and lifted it to his forehead.

"I would kiss it, but ya might get sick," he muttered.

Nancy was in shock. "Well, Dodga, thank you." She had never seen Dodger act like such a...gentleman. She noticed that her stomach felt a little fuzzy, and strange. However, she pushed it aside as she realized something. She lifted her hand back to Dodger's forehead.

"Dodge, 'ow do ya feel?" she asked, eyes wide.

Dodger frowned. "Freezin'. Couldja possibly get a blanket or somethin'? If it's not too much trouble?"

Nancy let out a whimper. "Dodga...yer burnin' up."

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Short chapter. Sorry, it needed to be short. Next one ought to be longer, however.

Please review, lovelies!


	4. Chapter 4

Last chapter, kiddos! I'm sorry guys, I just can't do these chapter fics. They make me angry. Only request oneshots or twoshots from now on?

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Nancy watched, helpless, as Dodger turned over in his sleep. He had been tossing around for a solid half-hour, muttering gibberish and trembling ike mad. It had been only a day since Dodger's fever had first set, leaving him feeling cold. However, it had soon progressed into a dangerously high fever, causing him to sweat. Nancy had piled blankets on, but it didn't seem to help. At the moment, she was sitting on a stool by Dodger's cot.

"Nance..."

Nancy's eyes widened as Dodger muttered the first coherent word he had in hours. Nancy leaned forward. "Yea, Dodge?" she murmured.

"I..." He stopped. His face scrunched together, and he twisted in his sleep. "I...love you, Nancy."

Nancy blinked. What had he said? No, there was no way. No way on this Earth. She sat back down in her stool, and watched Dodger.

Over the next few days, Dodger's fever broke. Nancy spent all of her time either tending to the semi-concious Dodger or watching him sleep, mulling deeply over what he had said.

"Twas a stupor, it was," she convinced herself. "'E was delusional, wrong in the 'ead. No way 'e really meant it." But, she found, the more she thought about it, the more she was wishing that it were true. To think, a young, kind bloke like Dodger would fall in love with an old, beaten up thing like herself.

After another day or two, Dodger was finally on the mends. His voice was still scratchy and voice, but his fever had gone down, and his coughing was getting better and better. One morning, when Dodger awoke, Nancy was compelled to ask him a question.

"Dodge?"

"Yea, Nance?"

Nancy halted for a short second. "Do you remember...when you 'ad the fever? Remember what 'appened?"

Dodger thought about it. Finally, he shook his head. "No, not really. I 'member fadin' in and out, little bits o' infermashun. Like, like I remember that choo were holding a rag on my fore'ead for a while."

Nancy nodded. "Anything else?"

"Not really." Dodger lifted an eyebrow. "Does it matta?" He chuckled sfotly, but then, another thought hit him. "I didn't say anyfing that hurt ya, did I, Nance?"

Nance, who had been standing by the cot the whole time, took another step closer. "No," she said, blushing. "Not at all."

Slowly, unsurely, Nancy leaned forward and gave Dodger a peck on the lips. Dodger's face went red, redder than Nancy had ever seen it, which was saying something, seeing as she'd seen him while dying of fever.

Dodger swallowed, pursing his lips, trying to think of something to say. "I...uh...I..."

"I love you." Nancy said. "That's what you said the other day, when your fever was high."

Dodger blinked. He tilted his head to the side. "I did?"

"Yessir."

"Oh, uh..." Dodger rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, embarrassed. "Well, I'm sorry-"

Nancy shushed him, smiling wide. She reached out and took Dodger's hand, intertwining their fingers. "Don't be sorry," she whispered, grinning.

Dodger coughed, then smiled.

Through the door, a tall figure watched the exchange, his frown slowly turning into a snarl. He turned away, stalking off torwards the street. Before he left, he turned around and whistled over his shoulder.

"C'mon, Bullseye."

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IT'S OVER.

Okay, so, I'm glad I went through with this one underlying idea throughout this entire fic. A bunch of people commented on how Bill was nice. Well, I wrote the fic with the idea that Bill wasn't that bad, up until this point, when he watches his girlfriend kissing some kid (well not really KID but you get the picture). So, now he's angrier. Ish.

Yup.

Review please! I would love ideas for future fics, just keep them at 1-2 chapters long! Thanks!


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